Lassie Strikes Back
by Jaspre
Summary: Shawn & Carlton's walk on the beach turns into a trip to the station and E.R. What has happened to Shawn this time? This isn't chapter 8 of Three Men, I know, but this refused to get out of my head and I didn't want it related to the other story.


Title: Lassie Strikes Back

Author: Jaspre

Warning: Lame title, homophobia, little language, slash relationship

Disclaimer: It isn't mine. I merely claim the plot.

Summary: Shawn & Carlton's walk on the beach turns into a trip to the station and E.R. What has happened to Shawn this time?  
This isn't chapter 8 of Three Men, I know, but this refused to get out of my head and I didn't want it related to the other story.

* * *

After dinner, they had jointly made the decision that a little moonlight walk would be a perfect tie to end their first stress-free day in months. It was supposed to be a quiet stroll on the beach.

Of course, nothing is ever perfect.

Ten minutes into their walk, Lassiter had decided he needed coffee to keep him going. Shawn had suggested they cut the night early so they could go home to bed, but Carlton had insisted they stay out a little longer.

"It's just so peaceful tonight," he had said. "I only need a little coffee."

Shawn understood. He knew coffee, not blood, ran through Carlton's veins. He had teased Carlton about his caffeine addiction, gotten smacked, then turned to watch the gentle waves coming in as Lassiter walked across the street to his favorite coffee shop. It gave him a few minutes of alone time to think about a suspicious man that had been following him for a few days now. It left him feeling uneasy, but not threatened.

Boy, was he wrong to think him not a threat.

It came out of nowhere. A baseball bat connected with the back of his knees in one smooth, silent swing. Shawn hit the sand like a bag of bricks. After the initial swing of the bat, his attacker had tossed the bat aside and switched to his massive fists.

"Where, oh where, has my little Lassie gone?" Shawn sang breathlessly to himself on the ground while deflecting blows aimed at his ribs and head. "And when is he getting back!" he yelled louder.

Carlton had only been gone five minutes before Shawn had been attacked by this backcountry homophobe. Shawn, in that moment, kind of wished that Lassiter didn't drink so much coffee.

"You like getting your ass beat, you fuckin' fag? It's nothing less than you deserve!" the man yelled before punching Shawn again and sneering nastily. Sometime during the beating, the slightly larger man (who seriously had hands the size of the frickin' Hulk) had straddled Shawn without breaking the rhythm his fists had taken up.

"Dude, for such a homophobic prick, you're being really gay right now," Shawn said weakly, spitting some blood onto the sand next to him and thwarting a blow aimed for his temple.

"Don't say that!" the man screamed and punched fiercely at Shawn's rib. Slightly doubling up on himself, Shawn gasped roughly and tried to shove the man off of him, which would allow him a small chance of escaping or fighting back.

Shawn continued to fight and began to feel hope when, in the distance, he could make out the sight of Carlton stepping out of the coffee shop. Shawn moaned in pain when the man atop him dragged him off the ground with his large hands around his throat. He was choking, trying desperately to draw air into his lungs just as Lassiter arrived.

The detective's eyes narrowed dangerously as he growled in the back of his throat.

"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this," Lassiter told the man who was holding onto Shawn by the throat.

"What?" the man asked Lassiter a little dismissively before turning his head back to the detective in alarm. Carlton's fist slammed into the man's mouth so hard, he hit the boardwalk's metal railing behind him and slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"That," Lassiter answered. Looking away from the fallen man, Carlton saw Shawn on the ground, not moving and swore that he had a mild heart attack in those brief moments.

"Shawn, look at me," he begged, voice rough. Shawn moaned again, but lifted his swollen eyes to Lassiter's face.

"If you tell anyone I just passed out, I'll beat you, Carly. I swear I will," he threatened. Carlton tried really hard to hold the quiet laugh in. Judging by the look on Shawn's face, though, he knew he hadn't succeeded.

"As if you could," he finally said to Shawn. All he got in return was a small smile.

"You know," Shawn said while lifting himself up (with more than a little help from a pair of strong Irish arms), "I don't think I've ever loved you more than I do this second."

"Did he hit you that hard, then?" Carlton joked, his voice betraying his worried amusement. Shawn smacked him, then winced when the movement pulled on a bruise forming on his ribs.

"Oh, Lassie, you are adorable when you're worried," Shawn said and grinned up at the older man. Carlton huffed.

"I am not adorable, I was not worried, and you know Lassie was a girl, right?" he asked his boyfriend for the one-thousandth time in his life, he was sure.

"Well, duh... Huh. Yeah, you have a point there, Lass, but the name remains yours," Shawn said before giggling a little at the pained whimpering escaping from his fallen assailant. He gave Lassiter a look and turned his attention to the man on the ground, who seemed to be regaining himself. Lassiter pulled out his cuffs while shaking his head and hooked them onto the man's wrists. Even if the man wanted to protest his arrest, he never had a chance to speak.

"You really should be glad Lassie didn't have his gun-"

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law-"

"Because Lassie has one mean shot, man-"

"You have the right to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning-"

"He used to threaten me and I never took him seriously-"

"If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense-"

"But then I saw him shooting at the range, and let me tell you I just wanted to jump his Lassiebone, but I decided I didn't want him to _shoot me_-" Shawn got into the passenger seat of Carlton's car as Carlton pushed his attacker into the backseat.

"Dammit, Spencer, shut the hell up!" Lassiter finally yelled at Shawn once he was behind the wheel. Shawn froze in shock a moment, then pouted.

"You, Detective Lassiter, just called me _Spencer," _Shawn spoke with disgust and turned his head away from Carlton.

"Shawn-"

"Oh my freaking God! If I have to listen to this little spat all the way to the station, I might have to find a way to kill myself!" the man in the back seat snarled, glaring at Lassiter. Shawn turned to glare at him in return.

"You know, I'm finally kinda pissed off and would really love to take Carlton's new baseball bat to your knee caps, guy. Do you know how much that hurts? I do, thanks to you!"

"How did you know I got a new baseball bat?" Carlton asked, confused, before he really processed Shawn's violent threat fully. It finally clicked, though, and he narrowed his eyes minutely. "Shawn, if you go after him with a bat, I'll have to arrest you, too. Eventually," he added with a quick glance in the rearview mirror.

"First of all, please do. Second of all, three things alerted me to the new bat, Carlypoo. 1, I told you about my childhood ball games with my dad the other day over dinner and you got that look in your eye. No, not that look," Shawn said with a leer aimed at Lassiter's groin. Seeing Carlton glaring, he continued, "Not that one, either. It was the mischievous one. B, you have new calluses on your hands. Calluses that I know you got from a wooden instrument in the shape of a bat because of the location and formation. The new ball and glove smell have nothing to do with it. Third, there was a receipt for new baseball equipment, including an Easton bat, sticking out of a trash can at the station two days ago. It was in the trash can by Buzz's desk, true, but I knew it would be yours. The sports store was by your favorite public gun range."

Carlton's mouth had fallen open and he didn't seem to really notice they were now parked at the station.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Shawn asked Carlton, who just shook his head back at his boyfriend.

"I'm just surprised you didn't try to say the 'spirits' told you," Lassiter mumbled to himself. He turned the car off and started to get out, when a hand on his wrist stopped him. Turning around, Shawn caught his lips in a kiss that was just a little longer than appropriate, considering where they were.

"Ahem. If you guys don't mind, maybe you could, I don't know, let me go or stab my eyes out or something?" the guy in the backseat snarked.

Shawn's lip twitched in amusement at the comment. He planted one more chaste kiss to Lassiter's lips, then got out of the car.

Shawn and Lassiter made an impressive entrance, 'Bad Dude' (as Shawn had mentally dubbed him) stuck walking between the two men. 'Bad Dude' looked decidedly uncomfortable.

As if sensing this, Shawn opened his mouth to taunt 'Bad Dude' a little bit, but Carlton stopped him before he could start.

"Just no, Shawn," he said while shaking his head slowly.

"But-"

"No."

"My God. Shawn!" Juliet asked sympathetically. "Are you okay? Do you need a First Aid kit? Did HE do that to you?"

Shawn followed her pointing index finger to 'Bad Dude' and nodded slowly, hamming it up.

"Yeah," he said in a small, breathless voice. "He's a very bad man."

Juliet's eyes narrowed. She straightened her shoulders and turned to the cuffed man. "Not only is that man my friend, he's also dating our Head Detective."

They all ignored the man's comment of 'fag' whispered under his breath. They did, however, turn to look at Carlton when he cleared his throat.

"He is also the Head Psychic for the SBPD, which means you just attacked one of our own."

"You don't have the power to do anything to me."

Carlton stepped forward and the man gulped. The only thing he did, though, was smirk.

"Buzz," Carlton called out. The man trotted over, his eyes on Shawn.

"What happened?" he asked, gaze looking everyone over. Carlton gestured at the man beside him.

"This man attacked Shawn tonight with a deadly weapon," he answered, conveniently not mentioning what deadly weapon had been used. Buzz's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, and his gaze slowly swung to the soon-to-be forgotten prisoner. "I trust you know what to do?"

"I'll take good care of him, Detective."

Buzz led the man off to the cells on the floor below without another spoken word. Carlton waited until they had disappeared from sight before pulling out a large First Aid kit he kept in his desk drawer. It was, in fact, the very kit he kept around for those moments he wanted to avoid the hospital for some wound or other; he could have a spear sticking through his leg and he would still try to take care of it himself.

He was wrapping a bandage around Shawn's left wrist when he finally spoke. "I can't tell if this is fractured or sprained. As soon as we can, you're going to the Emergency Room."

"But, Laaaaassie!"

"Don't but me, Shawn. You're going."

"You never go," Shawn grumbled under his breath. He was ignored.

Thirty minutes later, after Lassiter had doctored the worst of the wounds as best he could and explained to Vick what had happened, they were en route to the E.R. By some luck, the visit didn't last more than half an hour. Other than a sprained wrist, bruised ribs, and various other bruises and small cuts, Shawn was fine. The two men were buckling up in Carlton's Crown Vic when they both spoke.

"I think we should get you home for some rest," Carlton said at the same time Shawn said, "I wanna finish our walk on the beach."

They shared a mutual look of confusion.

"Why the hell do you want to go back to that beach?" Carlton finally asked, perplexed.

"Why the hell do you want me to go to bed so early?" Shawn mimicked Carlton's tone.

"They just gave you two Loratabs and a Hydrocodone prescription. You need to stay home and rest, Shawn."

"Are you kidding me? I'm used to this kind of thing."

Carlton's eyebrows rose. "Why?"

Shawn laughed. "Dude, I'm in the hospital all the time, usually for dumb stuff. Remember that time Gus and I tried to ski on the roof?"

THE END


End file.
